The Codex: Apprentice
by MasterAssassin2012
Summary: Aspiring mage Synne Kjarnesen is given an opportunity to attend the College of Winterhold after encountering a group of apprentices and their mentor. Eager to learn, Synne accepts the invitation and joins others who share her thirst for knowledge. As she progresses in her studies, Synne will discover that the knowledge she seeks comes with a price.
1. Prologue

Prologue:

 **15 Second Seed 4E 200**

A cold mist fell from the sky. Winter was long over, yet there was a fresh layer of frost that clung to almost everything and the mud was as hard as stone.

Runar grimaced beneath his steel helmet, his cloak soaked from the unrelenting rain that seemed to have followed them all the way from the Reach. _By the Gods,_ thought Runar as he rubbed his eyes, _how much further until we reach the fortress?_ Three nights spent sleeping out in the cold with little rest had seeped all the warmth from the Nord's bones and helped to put the man into an irritable mood—one, it appeared, that was shared amongst the others in the squad.

An indignant snort pulled Runar out of his own misery and he turned his head to see Ameyra, a sorceress from High Rock, staring at him. Like the others in the band, Ameyra was dressed in heavy animal skins and armed with a short sword no longer than Runar's forearm—everyone in their guild was required to have a weapon on them at all times, regardless of preferences—but while everyone else who looked as though they were drowning in layers of steel, leather, and furs and still shivering in their saddles, the Breton appeared immune to the cold around them. _Probably enchanted her clothes to resist the cold before we marched out,_ he concluded.

"What?" Runar grumbled.

The mage shrugged, a smirk on her pale red lips. "I was just thinking about something." _Oh, Gods. Here we go,_ Runar groused. "I thought you Nords were supposed to have a natural resistance to the cold."

Runar sighed, his breath coming out in an explosion of hot air. "It's not so much of a 'resistance' as it is a tolerance for the cold."

One of Ameyra's eyebrows arched. "Then you must've never experienced a true Skyrim winter until joining up with us."

Runar narrowed his eyes. "What makes you say that?"

She lifted her shoulders. "Oh, nothing really. You're just shaking so much that you're going to fall out of your saddle and probably not get back up."

"I'm fine," the Nord insisted as he suppressed a shiver. "Worry about—."

"Shut up back there!" barked one of the senior officers from the front. "Stay focused!"

Runar pursed his lips and directed a stony-eyed glare at the smug Breton, anger flashing behind his blue eyes. "Worry about yourself," he grunted in a quieter voice.

Ameyra scoffed, "Suit yourself, Nord." She clicked her tongue and urged her Cyrodiil-bred piebald into an easy trot. Before she was out of earshot, the woman turned in the saddle, "Don't come crying to me when you get bit by a skeever."

 _You'd sooner let me die of disease than give me a tonic._ Runar glared in response and brought up the rearguard, grumbling curses under his breath.

"Why do you let that witch get under your skin, Runar?" questioned Deekan, an umber-scaled Argonian from Eastmarch with ivory horns that started at the back of his skull and followed his jaw, as he rode next to Runar. "I thought I told you to avoid her whenever you can."

The Nord snorted. "Easier said than done, friend." He spared a glance at Deekan. The Argonian was outfitted in a banded iron armor that looked better-fitting than Runar's hand-me-down set of steel armor. "Especially when she seems to make it her mission to make my life a living realm of Oblivion."

Deekan chuckled. "Take it in stride. I'm sure once that Ameyra realizes that her jabs have no effect on you, she'll go sniff around the recruit quarters for someone new to torture."

Runar rolled his eyes. "You know as well as I do that Ameyra finds no fun in tormenting the spineless milksops that Lani and Ravn bring in."

Deekan snorted. "If my memory serves me correctly," the Argonian started, "weren't _you_ one of those 'spineless milksops' not eight months ago?" Runar leveled a lethal glare on his friend. "Ah, yes. I distinctly remember hearing you scream like a little Nord girl when Thalra broke your wrist during weapon's training." He gave a toothy smile. "Never thought I'd live to see the day an elf bested a 'True Son of Skyrim'."

"I'd never handled an actual sword until that day, scale-skin!" Runar hissed. "I grew up on a farm in _Cyrodiil_ , working the fields until my hands blistered and bled. The only weapon I had was an old wood-cutting axe and that was only to scare away thieves and poachers!"

Deekan's yellow eyes gleamed with silent laughter. "It was a wooden sword." He lowered his hand to the hilt of his blade and used his thumb to push the weapon out of its hard leather casing so that Runar could glimpse the polished metal. "Had Thalra used a _real_ blade that day, we'd be calling you Runar the Stump." He pushed his sword back down into its scabbard.

"Piss off," Runar grunted, much to Deekan's amusement. He wiped away rain from his face. "How much further until we reach the research base? I don't think I can take another night in this gods-forsaken weather."

Deekan chuckled. "I think the rest of the squad shares your thought, my cold-intolerant friend."

Runar huffed. "Sometimes I wonder if the gods decided to punish me with your company."

"I could say the same thing about you, land-strider." Runar glared daggers at the Argonian. "But, if it appeases your thinning patience, we're nearly to the stronghold." Deekan pointed to the north. "Treva's Watch is just beyond the trees and across the river."

Runar pursed his lips. "And how do you know?"

"I've been with these guys for almost ten years," the Argonian reminded his Nord friend. "Not to mention Haeric would always send me and a handful of recruits across the province to check in on the others."

"I see."

Deekan stared at his comrade. "If you stick with us long enough, you might just make—."

"I thought I told you to shut your trap, whelp," the senior officer, an Orc outfitted in a set of steel armor, scolded Runar as he rode down the line. The Nord frowned but bowed his head. "Keep your mouth shut and your ears open." The mer grimaced, deepening the still-healing scars that marred his face. "If we're ambushed from behind, any blood spilled will be on _your_ hands."

"Sorry, sir," Runar mumbled. "Won't happen again."

Lorbul gave a curt nod. "See that it doesn't." He yanked on the reigns of his chestnut and trotted back to the front of the group. "Stay alert men!" the mer hollered as he passed the others.

Runar didn't miss the smug smirk Ameyra sent his way.

"Was he always such an ass?" whispered the Nord, ignoring the Breton sorceress.

"Not this bad but, after what happened, he's determined to exact his revenge on those savages for what they did to him and our brothers and sisters," Deekan replied softly. "Our healers had a tough time getting the stubborn Orc to listen to them. Almost had to get Haeric involved."

"I remember that," the Nord mumbled. The realization dawned on him. "Is that why we're going to the fort? To see if there're any survivors?"

Deekan rubbed his face. "I doubt there are survivors. If there was, we would've heard from them by now."

"Then why go at all?"

The Argonian gave an exasperated sigh. "Did anyone ever tell you that, for a grown man, you ask questions like a tiny Nord child?"

"Ask our weapon's master when we get back," remarked the Nord with a faint smile.

Deekan shook his head. "We're going to see if any of Lieutenant Riverlock's notes survived."

Runar made a face beneath his helmet and motioned with a hand towards the others. "All of this for just some notes that probably didn't survive?"

"Lieutenant Riverlock kept his findings very secure," Deekan pointed out. "I'm sure there's something of his research still lying around."

 _I hope you're right,_ Runar thought. _I'd hate for this trip to be for nothing._

 **\- XXX -**

"Gods be praised…" Runar breathed when he caught a glimpse of the crumbling lookout tower that marked Faldar's Tooth as he and the others crossed the stone bridge.

His relief began to wane as they neared the fort. For a ruin that likely swapped countless owners over the course of decades it had been well-kept and tidy. Now, Skyrim had started to reclaim it for herself; vines began to inch upwards, finding cracks in the slate-grey stone walls and weakening the stronghold's fortifications.

"Such a shame," voiced Deekan, sadness evident in his words. "This place was once the pride of our brotherhood now…now only half-a-year has passed and look at what's happened."

Runar scowled but wordlessly followed Deekan and the rest of the group to the portcullis, only to be stopped just before the gates.

"Spriggans," growled one of Runar's guild-mates as he left the saddle and moved his mount away from the old fortress.

Everyone dismounted and quickly (and quietly) moved their horses to a safe location all along the roadway. _Gods, I_ hate _Spriggans,_ Runar muttered to himself as he lead his Skyrim-bred bay to the side of the road. At the command of Lorbul, the older, more experienced members that came on the trip were the first to set foot in the weed-infested courtyard of the decrepit base, weapons drawn, to search for signs of the forest guardians.

"I hate Spriggans," Runar heard Ameyra mutter as she cast a calm charm on her horse. "The only use those wretched creatures have is their hearts."

 _At least they_ have _a heart,_ the Nord answered silently as he softly cooed into his horse's ear. _Were you always so cold and cruel?_

"Have to agree with you there, Ameyra," replied Ciri, an ashen-haired Imperial from some small village in Cyrodiil. The woman deigned to reveal any information aside from she was trained from a young age to hunt and kill monsters and had some talent with magic. That's all Haeric cared to hear before bringing her into the guild. "No better than a daedra."

 _What is it with mages and their high-strung, egotistical attitudes?_ Runar wondered as he waited for the all clear. _They're no better than some milk-drinker that's too afraid of his own shadow!_ Although Ciri wasn't half as bad as Ameyra was.

"Looks like the Spriggans moved on," announced Lorbul, his deep voice echoing across the now-deserted road. One-by-one each member emerged from the thickets or banks of Lake Honrich with their horses close behind. "Or they were eliminated some weeks ago."

"Either way," added a veteran member, a stone-faced Nord woman with her hair shaved that showed off five silver scars spanned the length of her face, as she joined Lorbul, "it's going to be a fucking nightmare hacking through those roots over the main door."

Lorbul grunted. "Ameyra!" he barked. The Breton brushed some of her reddish-blonde hair out of her face and over her shoulder and gave the Orsimer a look. "Get in there and see if you can't burn those vines to ash."

Ameyra scoffed as she walked towards the high-ranking officer. "Just so you know, you're wasting my talents on a task that a new-blood could accomplish," she told the grumpy mer, her voice haughty.

"And you're wasting my time with your complaints," shot back Lorbul. He pointed towards the courtyard. "Get to work." When Ameyra was out of sight, Lorbul addressed the rest of the men and women gathered. "I want half of you out patrolling the walls and setting up positions along the battlements. We don't need the Riften Guard to see us and get nosy. The other half will come with me and Aelrica and search for any clues that might've been left behind by our fallen brothers and sisters."

Runar sighed. "Looks like I'm going to be on wall duty _again_ ," he complained.

Deekan shrugged. "Who knows? You might get to go inside and see how one of our research facilities work."

"You mean _used_ to work," the Nord corrected. "And besides, I only _just_ moved up from 'recruit' to 'member' not a ten-night ago."

The Argonian frowned. "Yes. I suppose that's—."

"Bergfalk!" snapped Aelrica. Runar flinched and saw the woman marching over to him. Being this close to her, Runar could clearly see the five pale lines that started from her left jaw and traveled across her mouth, nose, and eyes, and wrapped around the right side of her head. Her right eye was covered with a patch and half of her right ear was missing. "You and Deekan are coming with me and Lorbul once that mage burns those roots to the ground." As if she sensed his question or hesitation, Aelrica continued, "If you want to move up in this brotherhood, Bergfalk, you need experience and the trust of your commanding officers."

 _She's giving me a chance to prove myself,_ Runar realized, almost too late, as Aelrica stared at him expectantly. Her scarred lips pursed in a tight line. He managed to give his commanding officer a curt nod.

"I trust you not to run me through with those toys of yours," Aelrica stated as she pointed to the iron battleaxe strapped to Runar's back and then the sword strapped to his hip.

Runar's eyes widened. "How did you—?"

"You wear your emotions on your sleeve and your face gives away your questions before you even ask them," Aelrica clarified, impatience clear in her voice. "That's another thing you'll need to learn if you ever want to survive long enough to skin your first vargr."

 _I don't want some random vargr,_ Runar told himself. _I want_ her _._ "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now follow me."

Deekan and Runar fell in step behind the Nord woman and waited patiently as Ameyra used fire magicka to tear down the thick, gnarled vines that blocked their entry into the depilated fortress. When she spotted Runar standing among those that were chosen to enter, she sent the Nord a dirty look before returning her attention to the door.

"There," she stated, brushing charred bits of root from her shoulder.

Ameyra made to open the door but her wrist was caught by Lorbul's meaty, armored hand.

"You will stay here with the others," rumbled the mer. The mage's pale eyes widened to the size of saucers. "I have more than enough men to aide me in the investigation."

"I am your _best_ battlemage and you've resigned me to _guard duty_?" she seethed. "Yet you let the new-blooded whelp in?"

Lorbul loomed over the infuriated woman, unafraid. "I expect no savages, nor do I expect any bandits to be inside. Therefore, your 'talents' are not required, and I am ordering you to stand guard." His voice was calm but Runar could detect the edge in it. He was losing his patience with the sorceress. "Or should we discuss your lack of obedience with Haeric when we return?"

Ameyra averted her eyes. "No. That will not be necessary," she answered meekly and then stepped back. Runar had to admit: it felt good seeing that bitch be put in her place for a change.

Lorbul nodded. "Good." He faced the small group of men and women. "Be careful in there. There are still likely traps from when this place was still in use. No small scrap of information is useless. Whatever you find, you bring to me and only me."

 **\- XXX -**

"This place looks worse on the inside than on the outside," Runar mentioned as he and Deekan dug through some old chests. "Never seen so many bodies in a room like that." _I've never seen bodies_ deformed _like that._

Deekan snorted. "You clearly haven't been inside one of the _many_ Nordic barrows that litter this land."

Runar frowned. "Well, this one is filled with useless tools." He closed the chest. "What kind of research went on here?"

The Argonian didn't answer right away. "Just…" He shut the chest. "Just research."

Runar moved on to a private room that had doubled as an office. "If it was just 'research' then why did we see a torture table in the inner chamber?" He removed his helm and set it on the molding desk, and then ran a hand through his close-cropped, wheat-blond hair before resuming his search. "And what about all those cages in the room adjacent to the inner chamber?" He dug through the desks drawers, glancing through scrolls dotted with half-formed ideas and hypotheses.

"We needed information, Runar," the Argonian answered. "We _still_ need information on our enemy and, sometimes, torture is the only way to get the necessary information."

Runar paused. "I didn't think the guild believed in that kind of thing. I was always under the assumption that it was 'kill or be killed'."

"It is but, sometimes extreme measures need to be taken."

Taking that as the end to the conversation, Runar went back to looking for anything that Lorbul would find useful. _What's this?_ He wondered as he pushed aside a scroll and discovered a worn, leather-bound journal (multiple, in fact). He flipped through the first journal, sparing the pages a cursory glance, but stopped when a name caught his eye.

 _"One of the subjects, a Nord woman from northern Cyrodiil that we captured shortly after my men brought in the Savage, has failed to disclose her condition to me. It was only brought to my attention by one of the morning guards that this prisoner is, in fact, pregnant."_

A pit formed in the center of Runar's gut and he hastily backtracked to the first couple of pages, where he found the prisoner's personal information.

"No…" he whispered. He dropped the dossier. "No, no, no, _NO_!" He slammed his fists on the old desk, his anger rising, and sent his helmet clattering to the floor. "He had her. He _fucking had her_."

Hearing his friend's distress from outside, Deekan abandoned his task to check on the Nord. "Runar, what is—?"

Runar whirled, his eyes bright with adrenaline and fury. " _He fucking had her, and she escaped!_ " he roared. The Argonian took a step back, his hands raised slightly. "That bitch…that _whore_ was here! She was his prisoner and she _escaped_!"

Having never seen Runar this mad before, Deekan was at a loss on how to calm the man down.

"W-Who escaped?" Deekan tried, his voice even. He stared directly into the Nord's wild eyes. "Runar, talk to me. Who are you talking about?"

Incapable of thinking rationally, Runar tossed the journal to Deekan. "It's all in there." Deekan caught the notebook and opened it to the first page. "I told you about her, Deekan. What she almost did to me."

The Argonian nodded. "I remember, Runar." He started reading the entries and stopped when he reached the entry that his friend had found. "By the Gods." He looked up at Runar and shut the journal. "We need to get this to Lorbul—."

Runar snatched the book away. "No. This will stay with me." He tucked the journal into his belt and hid it with his cloak. "And neither of us will make mention of this to Lorbul or Haeric, right?"

Deekan, seeing that there was no persuading the Nord, relented, "Fine. Just between us."

Runar nodded curtly. "Good." His rage slowly ebbed. "Glad I can count on you." He grabbed his helmet and placed it back on his head. "Now let's get out of here before anyone comes looking for us."

* * *

 **17 First Seed 4E 201**

For the last three days Hreir spent every spare moment she had cleaning her home, preparing it for the imminent arrival of friends and family that were coming within the next twenty-four hours. As she worked, Hreir couldn't remember the last time she and her husband hosted so many people but within the span of a couple of years; she had watched as her family grew from herself, her husband, and son to include the Companions in Whiterun.

Hreir swept the last of the dust into a dustpan and then proceeded to toss the dirt into the low-burning fire. _I'll sweep one more time before the others arrive,_ she decided as she set the broom and pan in a closet near the cellar's trapdoor, and then sank into one of the chairs that were situated in front of the hearth. It felt good to have a moment's rest, to get off her feet and enjoy the ever-elusive quiet that spread throughout the home like a blanket. She tucked a few strands of light hair from her face and shut her eyes for a moment, savoring the quiet.

The silence, however, was not meant to last long. Not five minutes after sitting down and giving her entire body a break, three quick knocks broke the quiet followed by the soft whimpers of her youngest daughter waking up from her nap. Hreir, holding in a groan, got up and hurried to the crib that was placed near marital bed and scooped the fussy child into her arms.

"There, there," Hreir crooned as she gently bounced the little girl in her arms. The toddler stared up at Hreir with wide, bright sky-blue eyes and smiled. "It's okay, Synne, I'm here."

Synne gave a little laughed. "Ma!"

Hreir gently pressed her lips against Synne's forehead. "Yes. I'm your Ma." Another three, impatient sharp raps against the door. "Come on, let's go see who decided to visit us, hm? Maybe it's your big sister and her friend," she said as she wrapped Synne in a blanket.

With her littlest secure in her arms, Hreir went to answer the door. _Divines, I hope it's not any of the guests,_ she prayed as she gave Synne her finger to hold on to. Although, if it was her eldest daughter and her friend, Hreir wouldn't mind. Those two were always willing to help with any task, big or small, and did a good job of getting it done…even if they way they completed the chores were a bit unorthodox.

Another couple knocks sounded.

"I'm coming, just hold on," Hreir said, mildly irritated.

She opened the door to see who decided to stop by early and was both surprised and happy to see Herfid standing on the porch, dressed in a mix of chainmail, hunting leathers, and fur pelts. Hreir noted the hickory longbow and a new quiver strapped to the woman's back along with the steel blade attached to her hip.

"Herfid," she greeted, her annoyance gone, as she moved Synne to one arm so she could embrace her friend. Herfid smiled and carefully returned the gesture. "I didn't expect you until later tonight." Hreir pulled out of the hug first and had to readjust her grip on the squirming child in her arms. "Synne just woke up from her nap." She cocked her head to the side. "You cut your hair."

"I did." Herfid grinned and she extended her arms. "May I? I've missed her."

Hreir gladly handed the unruly toddler to the other woman and watched as Synne settled into her mother's arms and calmed almost immediately.

"She knows who her mother is," Hreir noted as she smoothed out her dress.

Herfid nuzzled the top of Synne's head with her nose, much to Synne's delight. "That's good," said the Nord. She stared at Hreir, a tinge of pink on her cheeks. "I-I didn't mean…"

"I understand what you meant," Hreir assured the Nord across from her. She moved aside and ushered Herfid to enter the home. "Come in, come in. Don't need Synne catching a cold out here."

Herfid bowed her head in thanks, strands of her short, dusty-blonde hair falling in her eyes. "I actually came by early to see if I could lend a hand." Hreir closed the door behind them. "You, Hulgar, and Balfhe have been working tirelessly trying to get everything ready for the party tomorrow." She looked down at her child, then her attire, and then back at Hreir. "Do you mind?" she asked, offering Synne.

"Not at all." Hreir took Synne from Herfid.

"The others said they'd be coming in the early morning to help set up," Herfid explained as she removed her weapons and placed them near the door. "Any news from Whiterun?"

"Aye. I got a letter yesterday." Hreir walked over to the table to retrieve a bottle. "Elana said that they're leaving Whiterun today, will spend the night at the Nightgate Inn, and then probably be here about mid-morning."

Herfid shed her furs so she was only wearing a scaled leather vest (not unlike the ones the Windhelm Guard and Stormcloaks wore, Hreir noted) the mail shirt, and a linen tunic underneath. "Then that means your daughter will be here sooner than that," she stated. "And what about Taryn? I thought she was…you know."

"I believe the inn is within the Pale boundaries," Hreir stated. "As for Skadi, I don't think she'll be here as early as you think. Elana wrote that they took horses this time. Too risky with the war—a scout might see them."

Herfid nodded again and, seeing Synne being fussy, held her arms out. "Let me see if I can't get her to eat." She took the squirming toddler. "What's gotten into you, little pup?" Herfid frowned when she tried to give Synne the bottle and the little girl turned her head away. "She's usually not like this after a nap."

"She can be," Hreir admitted. "Especially if her two favorite sitters are visiting. Then she just wants to play with them." She guided Herfid to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace and then removed the screen to add more wood. "I was going to ask: where are the others?" Hreir glanced over her shoulder to see Synne finally taking the bottle (with some coaxing from Herfid). "It's strange seeing you without Mynre, Roggar, or Emelia acting as your shadows."

With Synne finally eating, Herfid looked up. "They're still in Windhelm, each looking for a perfect gift for Synne," she explained as she adjusted her arms so Synne could eat easier. "Emelia's been dragging poor Roggar all over the Stone Quarter and Gray Quarter in search of a gift." She giggled. "I think the man is ready to yank his hair out."

Hreir, placed the last log into the hearth, set the screen back in place, and lowered herself into the chair next to Herfid. "I'm surprised Emelia hasn't been having trouble from the locals in the city. Since the war broke out, Windhelm isn't exactly open to Imperials roaming their streets—and the rumor of a murderer on the loose…"

"We were worried about that when we first decided to stay there, I'll admit," Herfid confessed. "But Roggar is a force to reckoned with and the guards wisely look elsewhere when they see Emelia with him." The Nord sighed softly. "As for those rumors…we're back at the Candlehearth Hall by sundown. We'd rather be safe than sorry."

Hreir had a hard time picturing anyone sneaking up on Herfid, or any of the others for that matter, and trying to harm them.

After Synne finished the bottle of formula, Herfid set the empty container down and moved Synne so she could start burping the toddler. "So, Hreir, what can I do to help make tomorrow easier on you?"

 **\- XXX -**

 **18 First Seed 4E 201**

Hreir was pleased to see that everything was coming together in a timely manner. Hulgar, with the help of Mendre and Roggar, was moving the long table to the center of the yard; Mynre and Emelia were putting up the last of the decorations; Herfid was inside baking off the last of the sweet rolls and Balfhe was out back with everyone else, keeping Synne occupied with her toys.

 _I can't believe our luck with the weather,_ she observed, her eyes on the clear sky, as she walked to the backyard. It was exceptionally rare (at least in Eastmarch) to have a clear warm day in First Seed. Usually it was gloomy, damp, and just cold. Not today, it seemed.

"Ma," Hreir heard Balfhe say. Hreir set a box of dishware on the table and looked back at her son. With each passing day Balfhe resembled his father more and more; the shade of his hair; the set of his shoulders; the firm jaw; the unwavering desire to help. There were traits that he inherited from her, Hreir was certain. The shade of blue in his eyes, the straight nose, and a calmness that was unheard of in a boy only nine summers old. "When is Miss Elana and the Companions coming?"

"I'm sure they'll be here any minute, Balfhe," Hreir assured the young boy. "It's a long ride from the Nightgate Inn to Mixwater Mill."

Balfhe beamed. "Will Farkas or Vilkas be with them? I want to show them how far I've come with my axe training! What about Miss Aela? I wanted her to show me how to use a bow the last time we visited Whiterun!"

Hreir chuckled. _I swear, that boy will take after his sister and join the Companions one day,_ she mused. _He'd be a fine addition, no doubt._ "I don't know, Balfhe," she replied earnestly. "Elana didn't tell me who would be accompanying her." She paused. "And you know full well that your sister is just as capable with a bow as Aela is."

Balfhe shrugged. "But she was gone on that contract when I went to ask her, and Miss Aela promised to show me the next time we visited!"

"Balfhe Kjarnesen," Hreir warned, giving her child a look.

The boy flinched. "Okay." He went back to playing a game of peek-a-boo with Synne, which the latter enjoyed immensely.

Hreir shook her head and went back to setting the table. They were still waiting on a few of the workers to come by, along with Gilfre, who was working not only her men but herself to the bone with trying to keep up with Jarl Ulfric's demands for lumber. There were some days where Hulgar wouldn't come home until well after dark, exhausted and aching, and once in a while there would be a hushed conversation between the couple about temporarily moving to Whiterun until things slowed down, but nothing ever came of it. It'd be more of a hassle to pack up their belongings and move to another hold. "We just have to weather the storm a bit longer," as Hulgar would say.

 _But how much longer is "longer"? I wonder,_ Hreir pondered. She lifted her gaze and watched Hulgar work, the man built like most Nords native to Skyrim; big and sturdy, his arms thick cords of muscles, and a stubborn jaw bordered by a thick beard that was tied with a leather string at his chin. Hreir could see that time was starting to catch up with her husband; how he groaned some mornings while getting ready for work or how he would complain about his knee hurting before a storm—.

"Rargh!"

A squeal of laughter and then, "You came!"

Hreir, jostled from her thoughts at the sound of Balfhe's delighted scream, turned to see him hugging his big sister tightly. The sight brought a sense of happiness to Hreir and, after watching her children embrace each other, she walked over.

"I'm glad you made it," Hreir said as Balfhe went back to watching over his little sister and held her oldest child close.

Skadi returned the embrace and then pulled back. "I wouldn't miss this for anything," she replied easily, a smile lighting up her already bright eyes. Hreir noted that her oldest wasn't wearing her usual armor and instead wore plain traveler's clothes (her sword and bow absent). Even her warpaint was scrubbed clean from her face and her russet hair was left to hang loose. "We would've made it sooner, but _someone_ decided to sleep in another hour." Skadi turned her head just as her friend, Taryn Whitemane, came around the corner (dressed in simple clothes instead of her usual leathers).

Catching Skadi's glare, the green-eyed, dark-haired Imperial stuck her tongue out and replied, "I need at least twelve hours of uninterrupted rest, you know that."

Skadi shook her head while Taryn gravitated to where Synne and Balfhe were playing.

"Couldn't you just use the frying pan?" Hreir was no stranger to the stories of the Frying Pan of Headaches.

Skadi laughed. "I tried, honestly. I convinced the innkeeper I needed it but Elana took it away before I could cause any harm." She grinned. "Wish I'd brought a mace with me."

"I heard that!" Taryn snapped.

Hreir giggled softly. "I guess Taryn still hasn't forgiven you for that, has she?"

Skadi shrugged. "Still brings it up from time to time." She crossed her arms loosely. "Well, we're all here. What else has to get done yet?"

 _Always so eager to lend a hand_ —. "Wait," said the older Nord, unsure if she heard her daughter right, " _all_ of you are here? As in... _everyone_ from Jorrvaskr?"

The brown-haired Companion nodded. "Aye. Everyone except for Torvar, Athis, and Vignar. We had to leave some of us to watch over the mead hall and help Tilma."

"Even the Harbinger?" Hreir asked, incredulous.

Again, Skadi nodded. "You honestly think Kodlak is just going to sit idly in Jorrvaskr while we celebrate the little pup's first birthday? He even picked out a present for Synne!"

Hreir was shocked. "He didn't have to do that…" She trailed off. "Thank the Eight for you all. We're almost done setting up but if you want, you can ask your father about finding something to do." Skadi smiled and made to head to Hulgar (who was starting to bring the chairs from the front to the back), when Hreir grabbed her arm. The older Nord lowered her voice, as to not let Balfhe overhear. "And warn the twins about Balfhe. He's eager to show them his progress with his axe." She released her hold on Skadi's arm.

Skadi smirked. "I'll pass along the message."

 **\- XXX -**

"...And then your sister, desperate to rescue Elisif the Fair, carved a path of blood and destruction to the ritual tower," Heimdall recited to Balfhe, the boy's eyes wide and drinking in the Companion's overly-exaggerated tale. "Most of the necromancers fled in terror, fearful of the painful death that awaited them, but some stayed and fought; casting spells of fire, ice, and lightning—all of which bounced off your sister harmlessly..."

Skadi, who'd been only half-listening to the amplified version of the contract that put her name on the lips of Companion-hopefuls, tore her attention away from a conversation she was having with Taryn and Brandr. "If I remember that contract correctly, I wasn't the only one there cutting down those mages," she added. "Spells don't just 'bounce off' of me either." She narrowed her eyes. "And when did Torygg send a two score of his elite guards to help us? How did the necromancers slaughter them so easily?"

Heimdall shrugged. "Minor details."

"What happened next, Heimdall?!" Balfhe asked, excited. "Did Skadi banish the evil Wolf Queen from Skyrim once and for all?"

Heimdall chuckled. "I'll get to that," he assured the boy. "Now, where was I?" He made a show of rubbing the blond scruff around his jaw in thought.

"Something about spells not harming Skadi and how she left a trail of blood and destruction in her wake," offered Brandr, ignoring the bone-chilling glare Skadi was giving him as he took a drink from his cup.

She hit his arm. "Don't encourage him, skeever-brain!" she snarled.

"Yeah," agreed Taryn, the archer mirroring Skadi's glare. "You'll just make it a thousand-times worse! Did you forget that Skadi has to _live_ with Heimdall?"

Brandr gave the two women a sheepish smile. "Sorry, I promise to make it up to you."

"Damn right you will," Skadi hissed and then looked at Taryn. "Shut up, right now. There's a kid present."

Taryn wisely kept her mouth shut but the grin on her face only grew.

"Right!" Heimdall took a sip of his mead and then cleared his throat. "Then, with all the necromancers dead or dying beneath Skadi's feet and joining Hircine, she bravely confronted the vile Ritual Master and a grand battle ensued. The Ritual Master was a very powerful sorcerer, one that could command an entire army of the dead, but he—"

" _She,_ " Skadi coughed into her hand.

"—was no match for your sister. No amount of power or magic was a match for Skadi's fury and blade," Heimdall continued, undaunted. "The fight went on for a whole day and night—."

Taryn stood and grinned, effectively ending Heimdall's tale. "Look everyone, there's the birthday girl!"

"Thank you," Skadi whispered.

Heimdall closed his mouth and peered over his shoulder to see Herfid with Synne in her arms approaching from the side of the house. "Ah, sorry, Balfhe," he atoned to the boy sitting next to him. "I'll have to finish the story another time."

Balfhe's face fell a little. "Aww..."

"Come on, everyone," Taryn continued, beaming as though she'd just been given Tamriel's entire supply of gold, "Let's sing!"

"Happy Birthday to you!" sang everyone, all eyes on Synne as Herfid sat down and placed the tot on her lap. The toddler, dressed in a simple blue gown, stared at all the excitement and giggled, enjoying all the attention she was receiving. "Happy Birthday dear Synne! Happy Birthday to you!"


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One:

 **18 First Seed 4E 212**

A crisp wind passed through the copse of trees. Synne shivered and pulled her cloak tight around her. She rubbed her hands together vigorously, blew warm air into them, and then tucked them under her arms. Her eyes moved from the quiet woodlands of southern Eastmarch to the star-lit sky above, where she recognized a few constellations. It was rare, especially when you lived in one of the coldest Holds of Skyrim, to be able to see the stars and northern lights in the waning weeks of autumn.

"Are you done star-gazing?" a voice asked from below.

Synne flinched from the sound, her attention enraptured by the stars and aurora borealis, and then peered down—her hand on the hilt of her iron dagger. Beneath her stood a tall, lean-muscled man dressed similarly to her—although he was armed with a bow in one hand, a quiver of arrows slung across his back, and an iron shield that was partially hiding the leather casing. He never left home without it. Synne placed a hand against the trunk to balance herself as she shifted into a half-kneel, half-crouch.

"I though Ma told you not to sneak up on me like that!" Synne replied with a grin. She climbed down from her perch that had been her post since she and her brother ventured into the forest. When she was on the last branch—one that had given Synne difficulty when she first tried to scale the towering oak—her brother set his bow against the tree, extended his arms and she leapt into them. "Thank you, Balfhe." Balfhe gently set his sister on the ground, twigs and leaves crunching beneath her leather hunting boots.

Balfhe smiled gently as he adjusted Synne's mantle, the simple expression breaking the stubble that began to line his jaw, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's no problem, sis," he murmured in that easy-going voice. The Nord girl beamed at her brother and smoothed out her woolen shirt and trousers. "Did you see or hear anything?"

Synne frowned and shook her head, some of her dusty blonde hair falling free of her ponytail. "No sounds. None that are close anyway."

Balfhe sighed, ran a hand through his unkempt brown hair, and stared out towards the dark forest. "I set some snares not too far from here." He plopped himself down on the frozen earth and patted the space next to him. Synne didn't hesitate and scooted close to her big brother, hoping to steal some of his body heat. "I guess we'll have to wait and see what daybreak brings." She didn't miss how he'd removed his favorite war-axe, forged from the fires of the Skyforge in Whiterun by Eorlund Gray-Mane, a gift from their older sister. Balfhe slid the iron shield from his back and set it against the tree they were sitting against. He eyed the sky, his gaze focused on the moons, which were obscured by the forest canopy.

"Do you think we'll have to move further south to find some game?" Synne asked. "Ma said that the butcher in Windhelm is upping his prices so much that it's almost…against the law."

Balfhe shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. But deer have been abundant in these parts for years—even more so since those giants were taken care of some months ago."

Synne thought for a moment and then said, "Da said that trolls have been spotted by travelers and merchants. Do you think that's why there's no game?"

"Perhaps," Balfhe replied. "But the nearest cave is at least nine miles to the west. I'd be surprised to find any this far north. Climate's too cold for them." He smirked, as if he'd thought of something funny. "The weather's almost too cold for us hearty Nords."

Synne wasn't as sure as her brother. "What…What if there _are_ trolls lurking in the woods? What if they come too close to the mill? What will Gilfre do?"

"Don't know." Balfhe stifled a yawn. "Probably send a missive to Jarl Enwulf requesting aid. If he can't help us, there's always the Companions in Whiterun who're always searching for worth-while contracts." Synne nodded absently and shuddered as another biting breeze passed through. "Do you want me to start a fire?"

"N-No," Synne answered. "Y-You'll scare the g-game away." She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I-I'll be okay."

Regardless of his sister's words, Balfhe brought the girl close to him and wrapped his fur-lined mantle around her. "I think all of our talking scared the animals away for the rest of the night," he whispered softly.

Synne grinned mischievously up at Balfhe. "I never could get the grasp of hunting."

Both siblings laughed quietly.

 **\- XXX -**

Synne was jerked awake by the sounds of screaming and roars. Next to her, Balfhe had his head against the trunk of the oak and eyes shut as he dreamed. The noises, which had been loud enough to jar the girl from her own dreams, didn't seem to faze her big brother but they unsettled her. Someone was in trouble and they were probably the only two people within five miles that could lend a helping hand.

"Balfhe!" Synne cried, shaking his shoulders roughly. "Balfhe, _wake up_!" He grumbled incoherently and then shifted so he was facing away from Synne. The girl huffed and glanced at her hand, tendrils of wily lightning danced in her palm as she summoned the spell, and then pointed her palm and her sleeping brother. The lightning leapt from her hand and hit him square in the chest—not enough to hurt him but enough to wake him.

And wake him it did.

"Wh-What!?" Balfhe exclaimed, blue eyes blurred from sleep. He shook his head, rubbed his eyes with one hand, and then gawked at Synne. "I told you to stop zapping me with that!" He pointed a finger at the sparks jumping in his sister's hand.

Synne let the spell disappear. "I'm sorry! But someone needs help! I think they've been ambushed by bandits!"

Balfhe stared at Synne for a moment. "There haven't been any bandits since—," he started.

His train of thought was interrupted when a blood-curdling roar punctured the stillness around them.

Synne almost fell over as Balfhe surged to his feet, axe and shield in hand. She led him in the direction of the sounds, her hearing picking up the inhumane snarls of beast and the fear-filled cries of the unlucky travelers.

"There's a group of them," Synne gasped between breaths, the icy air stinging her lungs.

She didn't chance a look back to see if Balfhe acknowledged her—or if he was even still behind her. Synne was fast, one of the fastest children that lived in Mixwater Mill, and she often outran her friends when they would race or play a game of tag. Her feet slowed as she reached the edge of the forest—the Eastmarch/Whiterun Border just under two miles from where she stood—and gasped when she saw two _trolls_ fighting a group of mages, no, three mages in what was once a camp. There was one lying listlessly on the ground several paces from the others.

"What in Oblivion?" Synne heard Balfhe hiss under his breath. "Trolls? What're they doing this far north?"

Synne, who'd been watching the mages trying to fend off the forest-dwelling creatures, turned her head. "Maybe the same thing we're doing," she offered. _But unlikely, since I don't see a bow anywhere._ A thought crossed her mind. "Balfhe…what if those giants were the only thing keeping the trolls _out_ of the woods?"

"Can't do much about it right now," Balfhe muttered as he unclasped his cloak before securing his shield to his left arm and drawing his axe with his other hand. He leveled a stern look on his sister. "Synne, stay here. If things go wrong, race home and get Da and some of the other warriors, understand?"

Synne opened her mouth to reply but Balfhe had already charged through the trees and into the heart of the fight, roaring a battlecry as he ran.

His abrupt appearance stunned the mages and Synne felt her jaw slacken when Balfhe ran into the first beast with his shield, toppling it over, and then brought his axe down into the creature's skull in one fluid movement. He rolled off the dead troll—just out of reach of the second monster—and brought his shield up in front of him.

 _Akatosh, Kynareth, Mara, Stendarr, protect my brother,_ Synne prayed fervently.

The first troll's companion snarled loudly—loud enough that it forced Synne to cover her ears and cower behind the shrubs dotting the forest boundary—and beat its chest with its thick-muscled arms. Balfhe shouted back at his adversary, banging his axe against his shield, in challenge.

 _I-I need to go get Da and the others,_ Synne told herself but her feet were rooted to the ground and refused to listen to her brain.

The monster burst forth with surprising speed and connected with Balfhe, the barrier of wood and metal bending against the weight thrown upon it, and sent the Nord skidding over the frozen dirt.

"Go…check on your…friend!" Balfhe ordered to the sorcerers. "Agh!" Synne's eyes widened when the beast grabbed the rim of the shield and lifted it, along with her brother.

Balfhe swung his axe and the ever-sharp edge of the blade bit into the animal's soft flesh. It recoiled, wailed in agony, and Balfhe fell back just as one of the spellcaster's unleashed a torrent of fire from their palms. The troll screeched something fierce as the flames singed its fur and flesh and danced out of the fire's reach.

The distraction gave Balfhe time to recover his wits and his breath.

 _He needs help,_ Synne realized. Her hand automatically found the grip of her dagger as she watched the troll cross the clearing in long strides and tried to tear Balfhe's head from his shoulders. She tore her eyes from the battle, peered in the direction of the mill, and wondered if someone would hear the fight this far—if she could make it back home and return with the others. The workers _had_ to be up—.

" _Argh_!"

Synne whirled just in time to see her brother hit the ground, his axe flying from his hand and his shield arm a mess of flesh and blood. The beast loped forward, stood over its downed opponent and flung its arms in the air, howling a terrible victory.

" _No_!" Synne screamed as hot tears trailed down her cheeks. _Balfhe can't die! He can't! I must do something!_

Without thinking Synne tore from her cover, sprinted forward with her dagger out, and lunged for the troll. She plunged her dagger hilt-deep into the troll's exposed flank and felt hot, sticky blood splash over her hands. Her elation was short-lived when the creature smacked her away with one of its massive arms. Synne gasped when her head hit the ground. She laid there, dazed and confused, and groaned when someone rolled her onto her back. A blurry, shadowed face consumed her vision.

"Lass!?" The voice sounded far away.

Synne blinked, trying to clear her eyes and make the ringing in her ears stop. "Huh...?" It took some effort but the world eventually stopped moving and came into focus. The mage threw their hood back to reveal a pale, Nord face lined with an ash-black beard and hard brown eyes (and a bruise forming across the right side of his face). "I'm okay…" Synne pushed herself up and felt the Nord put a steadying hand on her back. "Honest."

He moved his hand to her shoulder. "What in the name of the Eight were you thinking, lass?" While he didn't yell at her, his tone was like stone. "That _thing_ could've easily ripped your head off or spilled your entrails all over the clear—!"

 _Balfhe needed help—Balfhe!_ Synne scrambled to her feet and started for the battle when she felt the Nord apprentice grab her wrist and hold her in place.

"Let me go!" she demanded, trying to free herself to no avail. The man's grip was unwavering. "I-I need to help my brother!"

A bladder-loosening snarl cut the air and the mage holding Synne swore. "We need to get out of here!" he yelled to the others as he dragged Synne back into the woods. " _Now_! Grab the Magister and follow me!"

Synne, still struggling to free her trapped wrist, turned back in the direction of the ravaged campsite in time to see a flash of dark fur appear from the opposite side of the field and pin the burned troll against the ground. " _Balfhe_!" She couldn't see him. All she saw was a tangle of mottled brown and ebony-black fur rolling around the bloodied pasture. She stared up at the Nord, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "Where's my brother!?" she demanded. "I can't leave him there!"

A hand toucher her arm. "I'm right here, sis. Let's keep moving, aye?"

She could have collapsed from relief but the steadfast hold on her arm prevented her from doing so. Synne craned her neck to see Balfhe keeping pace, his entire front and face smeared with troll blood, and his arm was a mess of bruises and cuts; but otherwise he was okay. The girl nearly jumped out of her skin when a loud, triumphant howl pierced the air and the spellcasters tripled their pace (which wasn't easy considering two of the three apprentices were dragging their mentor through the brush).

"I've never seen a wolf get that huge!" one of the mages, an Orsimer woman from the earthy tone of her skin and lithe frame, exclaimed between gasps. "It was half the size of a newborn mammoth!"

Synne shared a look with her brother but Balfhe shook his head and brought his finger to his lips.

The group stumbled blindly through the forest until the Khajiit mage slowed to a stop. Synne observed their surroundings and figured they were at least two hours from the mill.

"Okay…Kishari thinks we are far from the monster wolf," the Kahjiit mage announced in-between gulps of air. "There is a spot over here, we can heal the Magister and the warrior."

Kishari and the Orsimer set the Magister, a Bosmer woman, against the base of a large pine tree and Synne noticed the unconscious elf was missing her left arm up to her bicep.

"Wilhrod!" barked the Orsimer. "Let the girl go and help us, for Malacath's sake!"

Wilhrod eyed Synne and then briefly Balfhe. "You two going to be okay?"

"We're fine," assured Balfhe. "Go help your teacher."

The Nord grunted something before joining his friends. Once Wilhrod was busy, Balfhe tapped Synne's shoulder and knelt on one knee.

"You mind, uh, fixing my arm for me?" he whispered. "I'm sure Ma will have a fit if I was to come home like this."

"Sure," Synne agreed.

Balfhe offered his wounded arm and Synne, using the corner of her cloak, immediately went to work cleaning it as best she could. Once most of the dried blood, sweat, troll saliva, and dirt was gone Synne held her hands over the gash.

"Wait, hold on there, lass," called Wilhrod. Synne frowned and faced him. "Let one of us do it," the mage explained. "We're from the College—."

Synne put her hands on her hips. "I can do it," she insisted. "I help my ma heal the workers whenever they get hurt."

Balfhe added, "She's more than capable of healing me. Let her so you can focus on your teacher."

Wilhrod hesitated but relented when Kishari shouted for him again. Synne returned her attention to Balfhe's arm and soon soft, golden light poured from her hands and flowed along Balfhe's arm. The skin and muscle knit together within seconds and the only thing that remained was a thin slice that'd heal on its own. Synne dropped her hands and leaned towards her brother.

"Balfhe," she whispered so the others couldn't hear, "when did the wolf appear?"

He sighed and rubbed his head—something he did when he had to think about something. "I think a few minutes after that troll smacked you back to the trees." Synne's eyes widened. _I was out that long?! It-It only felt like minutes!_ "I can't remember clearly. Between the fight and the adrenaline rush…it's all hazy."

Synne bit the inside of her cheek. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" she asked to change the subject.

Balfhe stared at the ground. "Aye…I think the troll might've bruised my ribs."

She pursed her lips and lifted her hands. "Hold still."

He put a hand up. "Don't worry about it, Synne. You're already looking a bit spent just from the one injury. Let your reserves replenish themselves."

"But that could take all day!" Synne argued.

Balfhe shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I'll drink a healing potion when I get back home, aye?"

"Fine."

Her brother offered a smile. "What about you? Got a headache?"

"A little," Synne answered with a pout in place. "But I can handle it."

Balfhe, knowing better than to argue with his sharp-tongued sister, relented and hugged Synne tight. "I'm glad you're okay, sis," he murmured. "You almost gave me a heart-attack when you burst through the trees."

Synne returned the embrace. "I didn't want you to die."

"Well, I guess I have you to thank for that, then." Balfhe pulled out of the hug. "You gave me a few precious seconds to land a crippling blow to that monster."

Synne beamed. "Just wait until Ma hears about what you did! I'm sure the others will start calling you 'Troll-Slayer' or 'Troll-Killer'. You're a real warrior now!"

Balfhe laughed softly, aware of his ribs, and caught his breath. "Hm. I like the sound of 'Troll-Slayer'." He sighed. "Maybe I'll go to Whiterun and join up with the Companions—."

"You can't! Who'll be around to play with me when I'm bored?" Synne retorted.

Whatever Balfhe was about to say was lost when Synne heard a twig break. Synne twisted around and felt her heart leap into her throat. A pair of angry, amber eyes glared at them from the cover of the brush. Balfhe immediately rose to his full height and placed himself between the beast and his little sister.

Synne peered around her brother and her heart started to hammer when those feral eyes fell on her and she heard the low, menacing growl coming from the wolf. She could practically _see_ its hackles raised and fangs bared.

"Gods-damn it!" screamed the Orsimer.

Synne flinched from the outburst and glanced back to see the womer tearing through her rucksack. The womer didn't see the wolf—none of them saw it as they were more concerned about their mentor. The girl stared back at the shadowed predator. Balfhe stayed where he was but remained utterly calm, as if there wasn't a bloodthirsty, angry wolf on the other side of the bushes.

"Go away," she mouthed to the canine. When it refused to budge, Synne begged, " _Please_."

The wolf's eyes flicked to the mages for the barest of seconds before settling back on the child. It growled again before disappearing into the woodlands. Balfhe breathed a sigh of relief and placed a hand on Synne's shoulder. Synne felt as though she'd collapse from a mix of fear and relief but she managed to keep her feet beneath her.

"Kishari's magicka reserves are drained from the fight!" the cat-woman hissed, her tail lashed at the ground.

Synne whirled and watched the apprentices bicker between themselves.

Wilhrod shook his head, bits of his ash-black hair falling in his face. "She needs Magister Colette," he declared. "The Magister's injuries are too severe for me to heal—."

"Malacath take me now," grumbled the Orsimer. "You're in Advanced Healing and Theory, Wil! You should have knowledge from working in the infirmary!"

Wilhrod, Synne noted, became defensive. "Yes, I treat the sick and wounded," the Nord growled. "But I've never treated someone with mortal wounds like this! The Magister has injuries that only a Master Healer can tend to! The best I can do is ease her pain long enough for us to get to the nearest city and pray to the Eight that there's a healer that'll be able to treat the Magister's injuries." He jabbed an accusing finger at the womer. "What about _you_ , Shadesh? You came from—!"

"Enough of your arguing, both of you!" snapped Kishari, the silvery-grey Khajiit holding a blood-soaked cloth over the elf's head. "The Nord will have to do what he can for the Magister. We can only pray for the Gods to grant us a miracle—."

Synne interjected, "I can help," she offered, not realizing what came out of her mouth. Everyone faced her and the girl suddenly felt small, well, smaller than she already was and her cheeks reddened. "I-I know a healing spell that'll work." She acknowledged Wilhrod with a nod. "You can help, too." Wilhrod crossed his arms over his chest. "With our combined magic and knowledge about healing, it _might_ be enough to save your teacher."

Wilhrod pursed his lips. "I don't know…"

"For the love of Stendarr," Balfhe grunted behind Synne as he joined them. "My sister knows what she's doing." He showed the mage his arm. "See? Nothing but a line that'll leave a scar."

"All right, all right," Wilhrod mumbled. "We'll try it your way, girl. Come on." He walked over to Kishari, who removed the blood-soaked cloth, and inspected the head wound before looking at Synne. "Are you deaf, lass? Come on."

Synne felt Balfhe gently nudge her towards Wilhrod. "Go on. You can do this," Balfhe encouraged.

She timidly walked over, knelt across from the apprentice, and did her own examinations of the unconscious womer.

"I think we need to channel most of our spells to her head," Synne told the older man when she finished her inspection. "Her ribs are probably bruised or broken but it doesn't appear like they punctured a lung."

Wilhrod nodded curtly. If he was impressed with her observations, he didn't let it show. "Hm," he grunted and moved his hands over his mentor's head. "Do you know the Heal Other spell?"

"No—but I know the Healing Hands spell," Synne quickly revealed when the Nord's brow furrowed.

"Okay, yeah," Wilhrod relented. "Don't just sit there, put your hands next to mine and channel your energy into the incantation."

 _You don't have to be so bossy about it,_ Synne muttered. She shook her head to clear it and to focus her adrenaline-fueled mind enough to put the spell together. Drawing on each other's magicka, pale gold light flowed from the Nords' hands and repaired the damage done by the trolls. Once the head wound was sealed, Synne and Wilhrod moved to the Magister's ribs and used whatever bits of magicka they had left to ease the pain. At the end of it, Wilhrod trembled and used Kishari for support as he rose while Synne slumped forward, almost falling onto the elf.

Balfhe crossed over to Synne and helped her up. "You okay?" he asked, letting his sister lean on him for support.

"Aye…" Synne responded as the dull headache started to throb a bit more. "Just a bit dizzy."

Balfhe carefully sat his sister down and knelt next to her. "Are you seeing doubles of anything?"

"No. I think I used too much energy," she explained. "I've never used so much magic before."

He frowned a little but didn't press the matter further—not that he would've been able to because the silver-grey Khajiit came over and stood before them.

"Kishari wish to express her thanks for helping us," the cat began. "We would have surely perished had you, warrior, and your little mage not come to our aid in time." The Khajiit observed Synne. "Are you well, little one?"

"Just dizzy," Synne defended.

"That will pass, Kishari assures you."

It wasn't very long before the Bosmer woke with a gasp and her eyes rolled wildly in their sockets as she struggled to gather her bearings. Eventually the womer calmed and stilled. Wilhrod and Shadesh whispered something to the elf before lifting her up into a sitting position.

"What happened…?" The womer groaned and cradled her chest. "Is…Is everyone okay?"

"Yes, Magister Nivean," answered Shadesh. "We would have lost our lives had the warrior and Nordling not come when they did."

The elf, Nivean, bobbed her head gently and then eyed Synne and Balfhe with bright, copper-brown eyes. She cleared her throat a couple of times. "Thank you for helping us," she croaked. She brought a hand up and rubbed the side of her head. "Wilhrod," she started, "you've improved by leaps and bounds in restoration. Colette will be pleased to hear about this—."

Wilhrod coughed. "I can't take all the credit, Magister. The lass helped."

Nivean raised an eyebrow but directed her gaze at Synne, who blushed. "You helped heal me?" Synne froze, suddenly too shy to speak. "You must have some talent then. How old are you? Ten, eleven years old?"

"T-Twelve," Synne stuttered, almost forgetting what day it was. She swallowed and tried again. "My mom taught me some basic healing spells a couple years ago. Said it was always a good idea to know the basics."

Nivean smiled. "Your mother is a very wise woman." With help from Shadesh and Kishari, the elf stood. "Have you ever considered enrolling at the College?"

Synne blinked. "The College…? You mean the College of Winterhold."

"The very one."

She shook her head. "No, Magister. I don't know much about magic besides healing and this shock spell I learned a while ago." She frowned softly. "Besides, I'm a Nord. Magic's not something I'm supposed to know—."

"Pah," the elf spat and put her hand on her hip. "Even after the Great War there is still fear among you Skyrim Natives." Nivean shook her head, bits of rust-colored hair falling in her face. "Forgive me, child. I should not have said that." The Magister paused as she thought about her next words. "No. You should not fear what others will think of you if you can cast spells. The people that fill your ears with such nonsense are survivors of a war long before your time." Synne bit the inside of her cheek, unsure of where this was going. "You'd be among kindred souls, men and women who wish to further their understanding of the realms outside of this one."

Balfhe crossed his arms. "Didn't you have that incident a decade or so ago? You know, the one that nearly killed Jarl Korir and half of what remained of the city?"

Nivean's expression tightened, as if Balfhe had just slapped her across the face. "That 'incident', as you've called it, was the work of a Thalmor Agent sent by the Dominion to gain a power that was unobtainable and not meant for us mere mortals. I can assure you, warrior, that your sister?" Balfhe nodded. "Your sister," Nivean continued, "will be as safe at the College as she would be at home."

 _This is a lot of information_. Synne bit her lip. _But I would be able to learn new things and be able to help people._ "I don't know…"

"You don't have to decide now," Nivean assured her. "Think about it."

Synne touched her right hand to her left arm. "If I was interested, how would I get into the College?"

Nivean's eyes lit up. "A test."

"A test?" Synne repeated. "What kind of test?"

Nivean grinned. "A test of skill. Much like how your kin like to test each other's mettle in a duel."

"I think I get it," Synne murmured. "What about the cost of attending?"

"Normally the test is a random spell given to you by our Destruction Magister but I will make an exception. If you'll follow us back to our camp—rather, what remains of it—I can give you a spellbook that will teach you a new spell that you will demonstrate for Magister Faralda should you choose to enroll." Nivean watched the girl for a time. "As for the tuition, that is something that is worked out between the parent's of the future apprentice and our Arch-Mage."

"And if I don't want to join?" Synne countered.

Nivean smirked. "Then at least I will help you further your understanding of the arcane arts."

Synne spun and looked to her brother. "What do you think, Balfhe? Should we take them back to their camp?"

Balfhe shrugged. "Couldn't hurt. Maybe I'll be able to find my war axe along the way."

Nivean laughed softly. "Then it's settled."

 **\- XXX -**

The sun was high above the Velothi Mountains when Synne and Balfhe stepped into the house, the warmth welcome after a long morning of hunting and troll-fighting. Their ma was pleased with what they brought home: two rabbits, and set to work skinning and cooking them. After a warm breakfast, Balfhe changed into his daily work clothes and left for the mill, his eyes alight with his victory over the trolls. Synne vanished into her room, swapped her heavy clothes for a beige underdress and a blue linen tunic and her shoes, then freed her hair of the ponytail and sat on her bed as she studied the spell tome.

"Oakflesh," she mumbled to herself.

She ran the pad of her finger along the edge of the handbook and then she opened it to the first page. Like the tome that she learned the shock spell from, this one had detailed instructions on how to properly cast the spell along with a brief introduction to Alteration Magic and its many uses. Synne flipped through a few more pages, finding the spell and mouthed the incantation. The chant was a little more complex than the other spells she learned, but Synne was sure she could figure it out given time.

"Synne? Synne where are—oh, there you are." Synne lifted her eyes from the pages to her ma, who was standing in the doorway.

"I'll start my chores in a minute, Ma," Synne said.

Hreir stepped into the room and sat next to Synne and removed a leaf that had become stuck in her child's fair hair.

"What do you have there?" she asked, her azure eyes set on the book.

Synne knew better than to lie and it wasn't as if the tome was one of those cursed books found on Solstheim. "It's a spell book. A wizard gave it to me when Balfhe and I crossed their path on our hunt this morning."

Hreir pursed her lips. "I have a feeling there is more to this story than you're letting on."

 _How does she always know?_ Synne wondered.

With a soft sigh, Synne explained the events of her early-morning hunt with Balfhe, the fight with the trolls and flight from the clearing when the wolf appeared, and the subsequent reward for healing one of the Magisters that mentored at the College of Winterhold. At the end of it, though, Synne's ma was silent and her face was an unreadable mask.

"…You attacked a troll?" her voice was a whisper and then she added, "That explains why Balfhe's clothes were stained..."

The girl bit her lip. "I-I was trying to help Balfhe. The troll was going to hurt him." _It was going to kill him but ma doesn't need to hear that part_ , Synne reminded herself. "A-And the mill was too far away."

Hreir lifted a hand to rub her temple and muttered something too low for Synne to hear. "Synne, you were very lucky that troll didn't hurt you." The girl nodded sheepishly. "You said this Magister offered you a place at the College?"

"If I wanted," Synne murmured. "And she said that the Arch-Mage would work out a...uh..." _What did Nivean call it?_ Synne thought for a moment, struggling to remember. _Right! I remember now!_ "The wizard called it a 'payment plan' or something so I could attend."

"Do you _want_ to go to the College?" Hreir inquired.

Synne shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."

Hreir patted Synne's shoulder gently. "Well, you don't have to decide right now. You can think about it while you weed the gardens for me." Synne opened her mouth to protest but her ma beat her to it. "No whining. Just because it's your birthday today doesn't mean that you're exempt from your chores." Her ma handed Synne a folded piece of parchment. "I need you to harvest some plants for me from my alchemical garden. And don't think I won't tell your mother about your early-morning birthday adventure."

With a huff Synne put her new (if slightly worn) textbook on her bedside table, took the note, gathered her cloak and gloves and started for the door. She stopped halfway and glanced at her ma. "Speaking of her, has Mom come by yet?"

"Not yet, Synne," was the answer. "I'm sure she will arrive soon."

Synne smiled. "Okay."

Before she exited the home Synne snagged an apple from the bowl on the table, retrieved the wicker basket by the door, and hurried outside before her ma chastised her for lollygagging.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

 **5 Sun's Height 4E 212**

The Stone Quarter was a flurry of activity as men and women of varying professions and wealth moved from one stall to the next, trying to be mindful of the children that wove in-between the stands as they played their games (earning themselves the ire of the vendors and customers). The air was crisp and cool, as it always was in Eastmach, but the smell of coal smoke wafted up from the nearby smithy as the blacksmith worked his forge; working shapeless clumps of iron and steel into malleable forms that would one day become a sword or a piece of armor.

Synne obediently followed her ma to the White Phial (not that she had much of a choice since Hreir had her child's hand in an unyielding grip) but that didn't stop her from looking around and seeing what the traders were selling.

There was an Altmeri woman at one stand exchanging general wares to a copper-haired man dressed in plain leather armor that looked well-worn and was half-covered by a thick woolen cloak. At another stall, a few yards from the High Elf, an older gray-haired Breton was busy authenticating a small collection of gems while his client, a young woman with inky-black hair that was tied at the nape of her neck and dressed in heavy traveling clothes with a bear-skin cloak draped across her shoulders, browsed the jeweler's selection of baubles that were on display. Other merchants were busy with their own patrons, haggling on prices or trying to steal potential customers from a competitor's booth with promises of finer wares and a fairer price.

As she observed the market, Synne couldn't help but notice that there were more of the elven and beast races intermingled with the predominantly Nordic population. _I can't imagine what life must've been like when Ulfric Stormcloak sat on the Bear Throne,_ she thought absently.

She'd only been a baby when the Civil War broke out, then a young child—no more than three or four summers old—when the war reached its conclusion, but Synne wasn't a stranger to the stories that painted Windhelm in an unflattering light. Occasionally, when she'd find herself at the mill near her home to help or to deliver lunch to her da and brother, Synne would hear a couple of the older workers grumble about how the war hurt the people of Skyrim and how they were glad when the Empire captured Ulfric. They were especially contented when he was brought before a moot of jarls to determine his fate.

From the history lessons taught at Temple, Synne learned that the poor and foreign lived in squalor, often resorting to begging and petty thievery just to survive while the affluent Nordic citizens lived comfortably. Back then, any outsider—be it mer or man—was treated with suspicion and regularly subjected to the guards' harassment, and any complaint made to the captain of the guard fell on deaf ears or was rebuked with a half-hearted, "I'll have my men keep an eye out for any suspicious activity". During the war (even before), it was rare to see an elf (or any of the beast races) freely roaming the Stone Quarter or downing a few bottles of mead at the Candlehearth Hall with the rest of the locals. Most of the time the elves and mer races were "gently directed" to the New Gnisis Cornerclub in the Gray Quarter.

"Eight above, it's a small wonder how they're able to talk the next day."

At the sound of her brother's friendly baritone, Synne turned her head. "Where'd you go?" Her voice was both accusatory and curious. "Ma's been worried."

Hreir, having heard Synne, eyed her son with a frown but kept walking.

Heat rose to Balfhe's cheeks. "I, uh…" He gave his ma a sheepish, apologetic smile. "…I ran into Saldus outside the Candlehearth Hall and we got to talking," he admitted. "We were catching up with each other when this man standing near the gates approached us and started some pitch about the Dawnguard and how they're looking for new recruits."

Hreir stopped walking (as did Synne since she was holding her ma's hand) and regarded Balfhe with a questioning look. "Is joining the Dawnguard something you wish to do?"

It was no secret to Synne (or to the rest of the family) that Balfhe was beginning to turn his gaze to the world beyond Mixwater Mill—to the adventures that he had yet to have or the riches that could be his—and while it was obvious that he wished to make a name for himself, Balfhe wasn't the type of man to just up and disappear in the middle of the night.

Balfhe lifted his shoulders. "I'm not entirely sure myself, Ma. I told the recruiter I'd think about his offer after I discussed it with you and Da." He brushed some stray strands of pale brown hair from his face.

Hreir nodded and then murmured, too quiet for Balfhe to hear, "One of my children was a Companion and faced more horrors in this province than imaginable." She peered at her second oldest, who clasped his little sister's free hand in one of his. "Now my son is fancying the idea of joining a guild devoted to killing vampires." She shook her head gently and them resumed walking.

Synne frowned, slightly confused by her brother's confession (and at her ma's words). He always talked about joining the Companions like their sister, Skadi, so he could help the people of Skyrim. "But you always talked about joining up with the Companions," she said, voicing her thoughts. "And you know how Skadi and my mom feel about vampires." _Skadi especially._

"Synne," Hreir hissed, too quiet for the others around them but loud enough for Synne to catch it. She glanced at her ma. "Keep the talk of vampires to a minimum, aye?"

"Yes, Ma."

Balfhe gave his sister a half-smile as he put a hand on her shoulder. "Nothing is set in stone yet, Synne. I don't know if I want to be like Skadi and join the Companions or join the Dawnguard. I still have time to decide—Eight guide me, I may even want to try being a thief or an assassin, who knows?"

Synne made a face as she tried to picture her kind-hearted, loving big brother as a thief or assassin. "You wouldn't make a very good thief or assassin," she stated. "You're too nice and too big, _and_ Da would tan your hide if you told him that you wanted to be a thief."

"Or Skadi would hunt him down if he became an assassin," Hreir added. "Your father and I raised you to be better than some lowly thief or shadow-walking assassin."

"I know, Ma. I was only kidding," Balfhe amended, adding in a nervous chuckle. "No need to send a letter to Skadi."

"What did Saldus say?" Synne asked, hoping to change the subject.

Balfhe shrugged. "I don't know. He seemed interested in what the Dawnguard recruiter had to say but Saldus is _always_ searching for a way to get out of Windhelm." He chuckled. "He mentioned something about going with me to Whiterun to try his hand as a Companion once or twice." The Nord rubbed his chin, which was covered in a patchy layer of brown scruff. "Or was it the Legion he wanted to enlist in? Maybe it was the Blades…?"

Synne giggled. "Saldus as a Companion or a dragon slayer?" She shook her head, pieces of dusty-blonde hair falling in her face. "I can't picture it. I can see him working on a farm or the docks, though."

"Oh ho, don't let Saldus hear you say that," Balfhe whispered, as if the Dunmer was within earshot, "he'll throw you into the harbor without hesitating."

"But I have you to protect me."

Balfhe laughed quietly and used his free hand to mess up his sister's hair. "That's what _you_ think, sis."

Hreir, who'd only been half-listening, chimed in, "If you let Saldus throw your sister into the harbor, you might as well jump in right after her or Herfid might toss you in the water herself." She paused. "Or maybe throw you from the Great Bridge."

Balfhe smirked. "The water's usually pretty warm around this time of the year anyway."

Synne, having lost interest in the conversation, tugged on her ma's cloak. "Maybe after we're done at the White Phial, can we go and visit Uncle Enwulf, Auntie Valka, and Sweyn?" Her eyes widened and she gave Hreir a pleading stare. " _Please_? It's been forever since we last saw them."

"I wouldn't mind stopping by, Ma," Balfhe added. "I'm sure the guards would let us into the palace."

Hreir watched her children for a moment, contemplating her words. "I don't know if we'll be able to visit them today." Synne's lips curled into a pout and Balfhe remained unaffected, as if he expected the response. Hreir loosed her hand from Synne's and stroked her daughter's hair, trying to comfort the girl. This was unfamiliar territory for Hreir, in a way. She never experienced this with Skadi and Balfhe was always well-behaved—even as a boy, he had been quiet and courteous…and curious. _Extremely_ curious. "We have a lot of things we need to get done before we head back home. Maybe next time."

Synne's pout deepened but she nodded, understanding. "Okay."

"How about, when we get back, you and I write a letter to Enwulf and Valka asking if we can come by the palace some time soon?" Balfhe murmured. Synne looked at him, a smile replacing her frown. "How does that sound?"

"Will you let me write the letter this time?" Synne pressed. "Because the last time I tried reading something that you wrote, I thought I was reading some old form of Elven."

Balfhe chuckled. "Aye, I'll let you write the letter this time."

 **\- XXX -**

"Welcome to the White Phial," greeted the shopkeeper, a middle-aged Imperial man that had streaks of gray entwined within his black hair, as Hreir and her children entered the apothecary store. The merchant, who went by the name of Quintus, was dressed in common merchant attire: a simple orange woolen tunic with a brown leather jerkin, a pair of worn greyish-white trousers, and a set of brown work boots that appeared as though they'd seen better days. "If you three need anything—anything at all—don't be afraid to ask me or my assistant." Quintus motioned with a hand to the young Nord woman that was busy restocking shelves.

Hreir smiled politely. "Thank you, Quintus."

The alchemist dipped his head before returning his attention to the ledger sitting out on the counter.

After giving her children a few instructions (mostly a stern reminder to behave and to not touch anything that was on display), Hreir wandered further into the shop in search of a handful ingredients she needed to finish her latest batch of pain-killing tonics and healing potions for Hulgar and some of the other millers.

With her ma busy, Synne scanned the quiet shop and then up at her brother, who seemed sorely out of place dressed in his worn leather armor and armed with his war axe and iron shield.

"You can wait outside if you want, Balfhe," she offered. "I can keep an eye on ma for you."

Balfhe glanced at his sister. "That's okay, Synne, but I don't mind waiting around for ma to finish her shopping. Thanks for offering, though."

Synne returned the smile. "I'm going to go see what Mister Quintus has for books." She pointed to a stretch of wall that was made up entirely of oak bookshelves. "If you need me, or ma comes looking for me, I'll be over there."

Balfhe chuckled. "I think you've read Quintus' entire collection by now." He paused and peered over her head. "Or at least half of it."

Synne shrugged. "Maybe. But you never know if he got a new shipment of books or one was discovered by an adventurer," she pointed out. The girl grinned. "Remember the time Taryn found a book in a Dragon Lair that was dated some time during the Second Era?"

"I think so."

"Anyway," Synne said as she pushed a portion of her cloak over her shoulder to reveal a plain satchel slung across her front, "I wanted to see if Quintus still had a copy of _The Cake and the Diamond_. I saw it the last time we came to the city but I didn't have enough coin."

Balfhe crossed his arms, something finally clicking in his brain. "So _that's_ why you were working at the mill for those two weeks." He made a face. "Mendre, Da, myself, and even Gilfre and Rorlen were wondering why you had the sudden urge to help out so often."

"Ma told me that if I wanted something, I'd have to earn some money," Synne told her brother. "I even asked Auntie Emelia to buy it for me but she said that if I really wanted her to get it for me, I'd have to wait for my birthday."

Balfhe grunted, "Huh. That…I wouldn't have expected Emelia, of all people, to say no to you." In fact, the young man couldn't rightly remember a time that his aunt refused to buy his little sister something.

"I know!" Synne covered her bag with the cloak again. "I think my mom said something to her otherwise I'm sure Auntie Emelia would've bought it for me."

Balfhe nodded. "That would make sense."

Synne readjusted her cloak. "Are you sure that you don't want to wait outside?" she pressed, and then added, "Maybe you can strike up a conversation with Mister Quintus' assistant."

"Uh…" Balfhe lifted his head in the direction of the young woman, who must've felt his gaze on her as she turned to regard the customers with a friendly smile and a wave before returning to her task. "She seems busy and I don't mind waiting, really." He ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "Besides, what would people think if they saw a warrior standing guard outside of an alchemical shop?"

Synne answered without pause, "They'd probably wonder why Quintus couldn't pay for a better guard." She flashed her brother a bright smile and then rushed towards the bookshelves before he could retaliate.

Balfhe blinked, shocked, and watched his little sister hurry to the wall of books. "I'll get you back for that one, sis," he said quietly, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face. The Nord sighed and looked around the front room, nothing catching his eye, and decided to make himself comfortable at a small square table that was nestled near the door and windows, where there were a few books sitting in a neat pile.

Bored (and knowing that his ma and sister would likely be a while), Balfhe picked up the top book in the pile, opened the cover, and chuckled when he read the title. " _The Wolf Queen, Volume One,_ " he said to himself. Balfhe turned the tome over and found a price stamped in the lower right corner. "Only fifteen septims." He laughed to himself. _I wonder if Skadi has this volume_ , Balfhe mused as he opened the book to the first page.

 **\- XXX -**

The sound of a bell being struck, followed by a door closing, made Synne turn away from her browsing and notice that her brother—who'd been sitting at the front table reading just moments ago—had disappeared. She shrugged, unperturbed by her big brother's sudden exit, and went back to her search. _I told him he didn't have to stay,_ the girl thought as she meticulously scanned the second-to-last shelf of the middle bookcase. _He probably went to the Blacksmith Quarters to see what was on display or if there're any repair kits on sale._ Synne reached for a book covered in a rich brown leather, checked the title, and then put it back when she realized it wasn't the text she wanted.

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

Synne looked up to see the young woman from before, Quintus' assistant. "Oh, um…" She glanced at the remaining bookcase she had yet to search. "Actually, yes, I could use some help."

Now that she was closer, Synne could see that the young woman was probably only a year or two younger than Balfhe and had shoulder-length, dark auburn hair that was tied up in a bun. Her eyes were a rich brown. She wore a teal gown with a white undertunic and a pair of leather shoes, a simple silver pendant with a garnet soldered into the metal. It looked worn, as if it had been out in the elements for a long time.

"What're you looking for?" prompted the worker, her tone patient.

"I'm trying to find a copy of _The Cake and the Diamond_ ," Synne said. She extended a hand. "I'm Synne by the way and that man I was talking to before is my big brother, Balfhe. I'd have you meet him but he must've gotten bored and left."

"Sofie," the woman introduced as she took Synne's hand. "And maybe next time you can introduce me to your brother. He seems like a nice man."

Synne beamed. "It's nice to meet you, Sofie."

"Likewise, Synne." Sofie released her hand and then stared at the shelves with sharp eyes and, after checking the third bookcase and rechecking the first two, the young woman clicked her tongue. "Huh, that's strange…" She scanned the final bookshelf a second time, making sure she didn't miss it. "I swear that we had a copy in stock." Sofie put her hands on her hips. "Hm…ah! I think I know where it went!" She patted Synne on the shoulder. "I'll be back in just a moment."

Before Synne could get a word out, Sofie disappeared around the display shelves. While she waited for Quintus' assistant to return, Synne went back to browsing the shelves (already trying to decide which tome she would save up for next) and listened for signs that her ma was ready to leave but only heard Hreir humming a happy tune as she went about her shopping (if she even noticed Balfhe's abrupt departure, Hreir didn't seem overly concerned by it).

True to her word, Sofie returned within mere moments with a copy of _The Cake and the Diamond_ in hand.

"Here you go," Sofie said as she handed the book over to the girl. Synne took the offered tome, holding it securely against her chest. "Quintus must've moved it to the discount shelf to make room for a new shipment."

 _What luck!_ Synne sent a silent thanks to Zenithar. "Thank you for your help, Sofie."

Sofie grinned. "It's no trouble." She folded her hands together and continued in a kind voice, "Is there anything else you need?"

Synne shook her head. "No, I have what I came for."

The young woman nodded gently. "All right. If there's anything you need or you have any questions, I'll be behind the counter."

"Okay." The girl smiled. "And thank you again."

Sofie, smiling, inclined her head and then went to the counter while Quintus disappeared into the backroom.

With her book in hand Synne wandered around the store and found her ma near the back of the shop, appraising samples of hanging moss before choosing a small bundle and placing it carefully in the wicker basket she'd brought with her on the trip.

"I thought you said that garlic was a better choice for healing or pain-relieving tonics," Synne said as she walked over to her ma.

Hreir looked up from her basket. "It is," she agreed. She then lowered her voice so as not to be overheard by Sofie as she continued, "But I can buy a clove of garlic for a cheaper price at the vegetable stand and the vendor usually has a better selection."

Synne filed that bit of information away for later. "That's smart."

"I can't take all the credit," Hreir admitted. "My ma taught me that trick when I was beginning my education in alchemy." She noticed the leather-bound text that her daughter held tight. "Ah, I see you managed to find that book you were reading the last time we were here."

Synne proudly displayed _The Cake and the Diamond_ for her ma to see. "Yep! And Sofie said that she found it on the discount shelf!"

"Well, today must be your lucky day," Hreir commented.

That brought an ear-reaching grin to the girl's face. "I guess so." She held the text close to her again. "Oh, and Balfhe left earlier," she explained, unsure if her ma knew that Balfhe had gone. "I'm sure he went to the Blacksmith Quarters to see what Lorz has in stock."

Hreir nodded and then inspected her basket one more time, making sure she had everything that she needed. "Well, I have all that I need to brew more potions and tonics for your da and the other workers." She eyed her daughter. "What about you, Synne? Do you still want to look around?"

The girl shook her head, her light hair falling in her face. "No, Ma." Synne brushed the sand-colored strands away from her eyes. "I'm ready if you are."

 **\- XXX -**

After paying for their items and bidding Quintus and Sofie farewell (along with promises that they'd return in the future), Synne trailed after her ma as they left the White Phial and followed the flow of the crowd towards the Blacksmith Quarters.

They were passing by a stall that (for the most part) was being ignored by others when the merchant, a copper-furred Khajiit with sage-green eyes that was dressed in rich, emerald-and-gold robes, caught Synne staring at his wares.

"Do you see anything that draws your eyes, little one?" inquired the merchant, his voice held a heavy Elsweyr accent. He waved an arm above a glass showcase that held various rings, amulets, circlets, and a few bracelets. Next to the jewelry displays was another container, this one a plain wooden box that was filled with an assortment of crystals in various colors. Some glowed gently and hummed a soft, melodic tune (one that only Synne could hear, apparently, since her ma didn't notice the sound) while the others remained dark and silent. "Everything you see here is genuine, crafted by the finest jewelers in Blackrose and enchanted by—."

"Hey!" snapped a passerby, an Argonian woman outfitted in patched leather armor and armed with an iron longsword. A tattered cloak rested over her shoulders, its hems frayed from weather and travel. "That's my necklace!" She pointed a black-clawed finger at a silver pendant with an emerald soldered into the metal loosely hanging out of a pocket in the Khajiit's robes.

The Khajiit bristled. "What!?" He shook his head, the gold bands in his ears clinking together gently. "You have been touched by the Mad God, lizard! How _dare_ you insult Vasjirr for a crime he didn't—wait, what is this!?" Vasjirr looked down to see a silver necklace with an emerald soldered into the metal hanging out of his pocket, in full view of any customer or bystander (or city guard). He took it out of his pocket. "Vasjirr has never seen this before!"

The sellsword ripped it out of the shocked trader's hands. "You're a pickpocket!" she snarled, leaning over the display table. "Guards! Guards, thief!"

Everyone's attention fell on the merchant-turned-thief and soon the area was filled with murmurs and a few racial slurs that made Synne uncomfortable.

"I'm going to make sure you _rot_ in the Windhelm prison!" seethed the womer as she jabbed a clawed finger at Vasjirr, her talons easily slicing through the silk robe and exposing a cotton tunic underneath. She turned her head and shouted, more urgently, " _Guards_!"

Synne felt her ma touch her shoulder. "Let's get out of here before the guards come," Hreir whispered. "Come on." She grabbed hold of Synne's hand and led the girl away from the altercation—and just in time too, Synne realized as she watched three of the city guard make their way to Vasjirr's stand, hands on the pommels of their longswords and grumbling under their breath as they marched to the stall.

As they distanced themselves from the confrontation, Synne peered over her shoulder in time to see two of the guards escorting Vasjirr to the Palace of the Kings while the last guardsman remained behind to disperse the horde of nosy bystanders, a brown, shaggy-furred hound that was almost as tall as Synne standing dutifully by the guardsman's side, growling at anyone who came too close.

"Ma, I thought the Khajiit weren't allowed to sell their goods within the walls of the city," Synne commented, confused as she turned away from the scene.

"They're not," her ma agreed as they walked. "But I think that Vasjirr is part of the Tamriel Merchant's Guild, which means he has the right to walk into any city he wants and sell his wares within its walls." Hreir spared a glance back at the scattering crowd (people giving the guard and his hound a wide berth). "However, being a member of a guild does not make one exempt from the law." She looked at Synne. "Now let's go find your brother and then we'll stop at the inn to eat a quick lunch before heading home."

Synne beamed. "Okay."

 **\- XXX -**

"I… Thank you, miss, but I…I can't accept this."

Synne, who'd been quietly sitting against the idle forge reading while she waited for her ma to finish speaking with the blacksmith, a barrel-chested Orsimer named Lorz, about the whereabouts of her brother, lifted her head at the sound of Balfhe's voice.

She managed to catch a frustrated sigh and then, "It's the very least I can do," came a second voice, this one higher pitched and distinctly feminine. "Not many—if any, as a matter of fact—of your kinsmen would've even bothered to say something until it was too late."

Synne tilted her head, her brow furrowing as she concentrated (her book forgotten for the moment), trying to figure out exactly where her brother was from amidst the other conversations and shouts that filled the plaza. It didn't help that it appeared that her brother and the woman he was talking with were speaking in hushed voices.

"I understand, miss—."

"Luciana," the woman, Luciana, interjected.

Synne pictured Balfhe nodding. "I appreciate the thought, Luciana, but I don't expect a reward."

Another exasperated sigh. "And there's nothing I can say that'll change your mind?"

"Afraid not."

"…Very well, I'll concede this time, sir—."

The young girl could practically _hear_ the smile in Balfhe's voice. "Balfhe," he cut in. "Sir makes me sound like I'm some nobleman or soldier."

"—but if we cross paths again, you will accept whatever reward I decide to give you, are we clear?" Luciana's tone was light but there was an underlying edge that yielded no room for argument.

Balfhe chuckled. "If it would make you feel better, aye."

Synne didn't bother to listen to the rest of what her brother was saying as she hurried to her feet and to her ma's side and tugged on the older woman's cloak urgently. "Ma," Synne murmured. "Ma!"

"Excuse me, Lorz," Hreir said as she removed herself from her conversation with the blacksmith to acknowledge her daughter. She crouched down so she was eye-level with Synne. "What is it, dear?"

"I know where Balfhe is," Synne declared, a proud smile on her face.

"You do, do you?" Hreir narrowed her eyes slightly and spared a look over her shoulder to see that Lorz had returned to the grindstone, where he was instructing his apprentice, a lanky Redguard youth, on how to properly sharpen a war axe. "Were you using your Hunter's Senses again?" she asked, settling her eyes on Synne.

"N-No!" the girl defended, her smile gone. "Well…maybe a little, but I was just sitting by the forge waiting for you to finish talking when I heard Balfhe's voice." Synne continued, "He can't be too far if I can hear him."

Hreir's lips pursed together but she relented and offered a hand. "Okay," the older woman conceded, "let's go find your brother, aye?"

Synne's smile was quick to return as she grabbed hold of her ma's hand and led Hreir down the main street, taking care to avoid bumping into anyone.

The young girl pulled off to the side, out of the way of the citizens and visitors, and guided Hreir down a less-traveled side street. "This way," Synne said. "Balfhe's voice is getting closer."

While Hreir trusted her youngest to never lead her astray, the older woman felt panic begin to settle in her belly. Fractured images of being dragged through the streets flashed within her mind and, perhaps unconsciously, Hreir squeezed Synne's hand tightly to reassure herself and calm her racing heart.

"I think he's just over—oh, what is that smell?!" Synne coughed, freeing her hand from her ma's grip to cover her nose and mouth. She looked up to see her ma's confused stare. "Can't you smell it?"

Hreir frowned, her panic subsiding for the moment. "I don't smell anything but the smoke from the forge, Synne."

"Ugh…" With some reluctance the girl lowered her hand, her nose wrinkling from the stench of decay. "It…It smells like someone died."

Despite her unease, Hreir managed a smile to placate her child. "Well, that'd make sense, since we're heading towards the Hall of the Dead," she explained. She released Synne's hand and stroked her daughter's light hair. "Perhaps that's what you're smelling."

"No, I know what the Hall of the Dead smells like, Ma," Synne argued. "This is different somehow."

"How is it different?"

Synne opened her mouth, answer on the edge of her lips, when the wind shifted and the awful stink hit her in full.

 _Eww._ Synne searched the narrow street for the source of the stench with her eyes. _Where is that smell coming from?_

"Ma! Synne!"

Synne turned her head to see her brother hurrying towards them. She started to smile, happy and relieved to have found Balfhe and be able to escape the putrid scent that felt as though it had seeped into the very threads of her dress and cloak, but it fell short once she spotted a young woman walking beside him.

"Balfhe!" Hreir reprimanded. "Where did you go now? Synne and I were worried."

Balfhe stopped in front of his mother, having caught the flash of worry in Hreir's eyes. He glanced at Synne, who stood partly behind Hreir while holding her book close and staring at her boots and trying not to inhale the nose-burning scent, and then sighed.

"I-I'm sorry, Ma," Balfhe began, remorseful. Even though he was a man grown, able to take care of himself and his family, Balfhe knew how strongly his ma felt about going to Windhelm without him or Hulgar. "I was at the Blacksmith Quarters looking at a repair kit when I saw a thief steal Luciana's coin purse," he explained, hoping to redeem himself.

Hreir folded her arms over her front, mindful of the wicker basket tucked in the crook of her elbow. "Luciana?" she wondered, an eyebrow raised as she finally turned her attention to the young woman standing beside her son.

The woman, an Imperial with hair as dark as raven feathers and eyes a muddy brown, stepped forward and extended an olive-skinned hand. She was dressed in woolen travel attire, a thick fur cloak settled over her shoulders and held together by an unadorned silver clasp at the base of her throat.

"I'm Luciana," the Imperial introduced. Hreir shook the offered hand. "And I'm afraid I'll have to share part of the blame as well," the Imperial continued, her tone apologetic as she released Hreir's hand. "If it hadn't been for your son, that thief would've made off with all of my money and I would've been stranded here for Mara knows how long." She touched Balfhe's arm, her brown eyes still watching the fair-haired Nord woman. "Your son is a good man. Don't be too hard on him, he was just doing the right thing."

Synne's brow furrowed, having heard a change in Luciana's voice, and she peered up at the Imperial from behind her ma, noticing how intently the dark-haired woman was staring at Hreir. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something about Luciana that almost immediately put Synne on edge.

 _You're being silly,_ the girl chided, trying to ignore the feeling in her gut. _She's just trying to save Balfhe from getting into trouble._

"I…Yes," Hreir agreed after a moment. Her eyes moved from Luciana to Balfhe, who seemed relieved to have avoided another scolding. "He's a good man."

Luciana bowed her head gently, strands of her black hair falling in front of her eyes. "I better be off." She lifted her head and looked at Balfhe. "Thank you again, Balfhe." She patted his arm.

Balfhe nodded. "It was no trouble, Luciana."

Synne stepped out from behind her ma as the Imperial turned and walked back the way she had originally come. Once Luciana had disappeared around the corner, the knot that had formed in Synne's belly lessened and Hreir blinked, bringing a hand up to her temple.

"Are you okay, Ma?" Balfhe asked as he took a step forward, reaching for Hreir's arm to keep her steady on her feet. "You're a little pale."

Hreir blinked, trying to clear her thoughts. "I-I'm fine," she insisted, though she didn't protest when Balfhe lent her his arm.

"Let me take the basket, Ma." Synne moved her book so that it rested securely on her left arm while she reached out with her other hand, waiting for her ma to and over the basket.

Hreir looked between her son and daughter, her cheeks a faint pink. "That's okay, Synne, but thank you for offering." She gave her littlest a smile. "I'm already feeling better. I think I'm a bit hungry is all."

Synne pouted but lowered her hand. "Okay."

Balfhe chuckled. "Why don't we go to the inn and see if Maeve has any of her famous elk stew simmering over the cooking fire and some fresh bread?" he suggested. "Maybe warm up by the fire and listen to Luaffyn sing or maybe Stenvar will tell us a tale or two of his time as a sellsword."

The idea of sitting near a roaring fire and eating a bowl of Maeve Thrice-Stone's stew made Synne's stomach growl.

Hreir beamed. "Synne and I were discussing the same thing when we were searching for you," she admitted. She then glanced at her daughter, who appeared to be completely fine as she walked on Balfhe's other side. "I see that you're feeling better."

"I am, Ma," Synne answered, peering around her big brother. "I think you were right; it was probably just the Hall of the Dead I was smelling before."

Balfhe chuckled. "You sound like our sister."

"Skadi complains _a lot_ more than I do," Synne countered.

Hreir shook her head, already knowing where this conversation was going to end up. "All right, you two, that's enough for now. Let's go to Candlehearth, get something to eat, and then we'll head home."

* * *

 **8 Sun's Height, 4E 212**

It was late, Synne knew, but she couldn't fall asleep and she'd been mulling over this for most of the day.

"…Ma, Da?" Synne said, her belly suddenly full of butterflies, as she stepped into the living room.

Hulgar and Hreir, who had settled themselves in two fur-covered chairs in front of the fire place, stopped their conversation and looked at their daughter, who stopped near the wooden partition that hid their bed from the rest of the home.

"Are you okay, Synne?" Hulgar asked as he started to stand, seeing the distress on his daughter's face. He strode over to where Synne stood in three quick strides and knelt on one knee, the joint cracking, and placed one of his big hands on her forehead. "You look like you're about to throw up."

 _I feel like I want to throw up,_ Synne admitted to herself, her eyes glancing over her da's broad shoulder to see her ma walking over with one of the furs from the chairs.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Hreir wondered, wrapping the bearskin around her child's shoulders.

Synne shook her head, clutching the fur mantle tight. "N-No." She swallowed. "I just…I want to tell you something and I'm…I'm worried you'll be upset."

Hulgar stood, grunting from putting the extra weight on his knee, and tugged on the end of his beard.

"Come on, Little Wolf," he said after a brief pause, a smile crinkling the skin around his chocolate brown eyes, "come and sit so you can tell your ma and I what's on your mind, aye?"

Hreir patted Synne's back gently and guided the girl to one of the fur-covered chairs.

"All right," Hulgar began as Hreir sat herself in the chair opposite of Synne, the big man moving to stand by his wife's side. "What seems to be troubling you?"

 _Skadi told me that there are times to beat around the bush and there are other times when it's better to be direct,_ Synne reminded herself, taking a small comfort in her big sister's words. _I just have to figure out if I should be direct or gently lead them to it._

"I…" Synne cleared her throat, trying to find her courage as she stared at her parents. "I've been thinking a lot lately about that offer Magister Nivean made me a few months ago," she began, her voice soft.

Hreir nodded. "I remember."

Hulgar grunted, "Aye, I recall Balfhe telling me something along those lines."

 _They're going to make me say it, then,_ the young girl realized.

Synne looked between her ma and da, two of the many people in her life that meant more to her than the entirety of the world—two people who welcomed her into their home and raised as her if she were their own flesh and blood; two people who fed her, clothed her, made sure she learned her letters and numbers…

"I've decided that I'd like to go to the College of Winterhold." Synne shifted in her seat. "I want to learn more about magic."

Hreir blinked, shocked. "Are you sure, Synne?"

"I am." Synne sat a bit straighter, her voice filled with determination.


End file.
